destiny number two
Wingless dolls
randomly stabbed &
hat-pin-crucified.
This might be the price
for time spent
in the unknown. Let me
be a part of your
collection of lovers. Some
sleep with them for the
price of a line. Out of spite
the hero survives another
fall. And he looks inside
to find you dressed like
his mother. Track six
hisses an automatic
patti Smith syndrome.
Soft lights of this room
never really achieve
contentment. A kind of
heat, that you wipe-of
becomes your destiny
that's squeezed out like
toothpaste in the dark.
This might be the fate
you had always served
in your dreams. A price
you pay for oranges
& tea by the river. Track
six hisses an automatic
glow in the dark figurine.
Your messenger stole
secrets I had offered
angels to carry. Wingless
dolls, stabbed & hat pin
crucified, randomly
occupy the rooms once
echoing burning desire.
This might be the price
for time spent
in the unknown. Let me
be a part of your
collection of lovers.
the pool hall hushes
Albino Bob &
John the Boo
had coins on the box.
Nailing wooden
holes. Bob
shoots the eight ball
plays cool
but deadly pool.
Following
my eyes until mine
met hers
Vonny stubs out
a cigarette. Holds
a cue
chalking it
John the Boo
calls her to shoot.
With a crooked
finger
held to his lips
Bob whispers
God might be
watching you. The pool
hall hushes.
An air of suspense
fades into the guilty
faces. Looking
down but seeing up.
The eight ball
slows down
to a crawl. Vonny calls
" its in, I've won ! ".
Racking up
another table ' Last drinks
its time '
the bartender calls
Albino Bob play
second fidle waving
down a Cab for Vonny &
smoky John the boo .
booked to do the monkey
Stranded in the foyer
the Grand Oceanic Hotel
in time for high tea. I'm
shackled in shades
high healed to the waist.
Elevated. Room sixty-one
on the nineteenth floor.
Mexican blonde wrapped
in last weeks Bombay
Times. Pig Iron Turk
leaves nothing to the
imagination. Burns
it with a Bowie Knife
& lets it drift from the
blade the entire night.
Like incense to the
brain. A glowing ballroom
filled hollow promises
in a passionate embrace.
Slow dances out
of pain. Flat footed
floozies booked to do
the monkey come on like
a pack of dogs. Gypsy
dave passes a chilem
he'd carved out of
fossilized stone. Slow motion
flickering scenes ignite
my lips to speak. In
vision seeked & stranded
sentences, my focus
falls in the light . Colored
birds perch at the elevator.
Black cats watch them
with designs upon there
hearts. I've made my way
around this ballroom so
many times. I find now that
I cant dance. In time for
high tea. I'm shackled
in shades & high healed
to the waist. Elevated.
Room sixty-one
on the nineteenth floor
of the Grand.
in the UNDERGROUND - way out in Western Australia,
at a place covered in Madonal lilys called
Maragerett River
